


love me in spite

by coldairballoons



Series: Me and My Husband (We're Doing Better) [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Emotional Baggage, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sir and Esme mentioned, past toxic relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29366547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldairballoons/pseuds/coldairballoons
Summary: The door knocker stared him square in the face, and Charles shut his eyes for a moment, before nodding decisively, inhaling sharply, and raising his hand to the door, knocking three times on the wood.***A.K.A., projecting my ace-spec!Charles headcanon into a comfort ship? Always.(Title from "Out Like A Light" by The Honeysticks)
Relationships: Charles/Jerome Squalor
Series: Me and My Husband (We're Doing Better) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157171
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	love me in spite

**Author's Note:**

> This very much so is based on personal experience, and while I know it's a very minute detail/headcanon, I have now formed an emotional attachment to it. And them. Whoops. Why is there no content out there for my boys, please, they are Literally Canon-

In a relationship, there are many things one may consider to be the (metaphorical) “elephant in the room”. For instance, a glaringly obvious bad haircut, or a mysterious sock in the sock drawer. On the other hand, there are some less prominent, more private aspects that one may not wish to share, not at first. And on the other hand, should you have three hands, there are some things in a relationship that society deems “acceptable” and “appropriate”.

One can hide a bad haircut beneath a hat, or try to find a match for the mystery sock. But with a bad ex-partner, a bad experience, or a bad past, one can’t hide. In fact, one should probably discuss these with another trusted individual, such as a therapist, a good friend, or a better, healthier partner.

Charles had tried to hide the (metaphorical) bad haircut of his past--at least, to spare his now-partner the details. He knew the basics, of course, that Sir had been overwhelmingly dominant and oppressive in every aspect of their relationship, that it had clearly been one-sided and hurtful.

What Jerome didn’t know, and what Charles had intended on telling him sooner, but had been procrastinating until it was glaring him in the face, was the third hand. Well, a messy combination of the second and third hands, involving a tangled web of experiences that Charles very much did not wish to relive, as well as his own confusion about… many things.

Which was how he ended up here, at Jerome’s door, anxiously balling his hands into fists at his sides. He wanted to raise one to knock at the door, and wanted to see his boyfriend’s face, but right now, that want was overrun by the panic gnawing at his mind.

The door knocker stared him square in the face, and Charles shut his eyes for a moment, before nodding decisively, inhaling sharply, and raising his hand to the door, knocking three times on the wood.

When a person knocks at a door, they usually expect an answer, or a sound of affirmation, or for the door to swing open and to see the smiling face of whomever they were trying to reach in the first place. When Charles knocked those three firm times, however, a familiar voice echoed from the end of the hallway, and he jumped, clasping his hand to his chest. “Charles?”

“Good heavens! I-Hi, hello, hi, Jerome,” Charles stammered, a word which here implies how flustered and panicked he really was becoming. His face grew warm, and he dropped his hand to his side again, giving a nervous giggle. “What… are you doing here?”

Jerome moved a bag of groceries to his other arm with a huff of laughter, shrugging. The lemons in the bag seemed to shrug with him as he shifted around, trying to find a key. “I… live here.”

“Right.” The swirls of marble on the floor seemed incredibly interesting to Charles at the present moment, and he didn’t look up until Jerome cleared his throat, gesturing to the door, which Charles still stood in front of, with a smile on his face. “Oh-yep, right, I am… so sorry.”

“No need.” Jerome laughed, and Charles found himself staring at the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled when he smiled, how his laughter seemed to bubble up from his stomach and erupt in a melody that Charles  _ knew _ he could listen to all day. “Really, are you alright? Is everything alright?”

Ah. The (metaphorical) elephant was back, accompanied by a flutter of (thankfully metaphorical) butterflies in Charles’ chest. He cleared his throat, nodding, and squeezed his hands into fists at his side, taking into account the dampness growing at his palms. “Me? I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? Just… peachy keen!”

The door unlocked with a  _ click! _ , and Charles was gestured inside by Jerome, lovely Jerome, who set the grocery bags down on the counter and started to put various fruits and desserts away from the first bag. “Peachy keen? Do you… need to talk about anything?”

A cluster of bananas was put away, and Charles swallowed, nodding. He looked back down at his hands, which had started to shake with nerves on their own accord. Now, of all times… Charles stowed them in his pockets, nodding again. “I… do, as a matter of fact.”

Evidently, Jerome heard the nervous quiver in his voice, the tightness in his breath, the slight stutter, and turned, frowning. “Charlie?” He whispered softly, walking over to sit next to him at the table--when had Charles sat down? It wasn’t  _ bad _ , as his head was starting to spin, but… he couldn't remember sitting down. “Charlie, what’s going on?”

“I don’t want to have sex.” He blurted out, immediately squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t-it’s not that I don’t trust you, because I do, I do trust you, but I’m not  _ ready _ , and Sir always made it feel like I had to, and with him, I  _ did _ have to, but now I don’t want to, not yet, and maybe in the future, because I love you, and I know you love  _ me _ , but right now, I just- I don’t- I never really enjoyed it with him, and I don’t know if it was just a bad experience or if I just don’t like it, and I know you’ll probably leave me, but I just don’t- I don’t  _ like _ it, I don’t  _ want _ to have sex- I-”   
  


“Charles.” Jerome said gently, reaching out to take his hand, and his words seemed to pull Charles out of the downwards spiral he was surely diving into. “Charles, dear, you know that isn’t important to me.”

“It  _ should _ be-”

“It’s not.” He squeezed Charles’ hand. “Charles, angel, listen to me.”

All he could do was shut his eyes and nod, and Charles heard the chair creak, as though Jerome was leaning forward. “I don’t care about sex. It’s not what’s important to me, not the most important thing. I can live without it, but I can’t live without you in my life.”

“...oh.” He opened his eyes, nodding slowly, and Jerome nodded in return. “I…”

“You don’t need to say anything until you’re ready.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. Finding that he, in fact, had  _ no _ words, Charles shut his mouth, nodding. A billion questions were floating through his head, but Jerome just squeezed his hand again, and he let out a soft “ha!” of relieved laughter. 

Jerome smiled, cocking his head. “What’s so funny?”

“Just… knowing you care.” He whispered. “Knowing you… love me. It’s nice.”

“Always,” Jerome murmured, running his thumb over Charles’ knuckles. The skin beneath his hand felt like it was tingling, but in a pleasant way, like a content warmth. “May I… ask a few questions, when you’re ready?”

“Please. I… I’m willing to discuss it now?” Already, Charles was mentally preparing himself, but Jerome, perfect,  _ wonderful _ Jerome, just smiled, leaning back in the chair. “If you want?”

“Why don’t we go to the bedroom--” Charles froze for a minute, then Jerome shook his head, a flush spreading up his face. His ears were tinted pink, Charles noted. “Not like that! Not at all-- it’s just-- it’s cold out, I can light the fireplace in there, we can cuddle and talk, because I know you like cuddling, especially when you’re nervous, and if you want--” 

Charles cut him off with a quick kiss to his lips, pulling back with a smile on his own. “You know me so well, Jer…”

The two stood, lemons and other various groceries forgotten in favor of the bedroom--it was just as roomy as the rest of Jerome’s penthouse, the eccentric decor his ex-wife had long since been forgotten in favor of simpler, more “cozy” designs. A bookshelf, extending the length of the wall, was filled with books, and Charles remembered the first night he’d spent at the penthouse with Jerome.

He’d been helping clear out the old and bring in the new, symbolic, seeing as that was the night of their first kiss. Both had been coping with their ex-partners in different ways, Jerome compulsively cleaning out everything that had belonged to Esme in a hurry, so much so that he was left with more money than he knew what to do with and a near-empty penthouse apartment in the middle of the city. Charles tried to help where he could, and had offered to help fill his bookshelves--after Sir’s disappearance and Charles’ obtaining of the mill and its property, he admitted that he had gone just a tad (read. “extremely”) overboard with buying books for the library. 

“Do you remember that night?” Charles whispered, running his hand over one of the shelves--the section dedicated to titles beginning with _ P _ . Rather than organizing by author, Jerome had insisted that they organize by title--it was “out”, and he wanted to distance himself from the “In” and the “Out” as much as he could. “What did you read to me again?”

“Byron.” Jerome hummed, coming up behind him to wrap his arms around Charles’ waist and rest his head upon his shoulder. “ _ The Cornelian _ .”

“No specious splendour of this stone

Endears it to my memory ever;

With lustre only once it shone,

And blushes modest as the giver.

Some, who can sneer at friendship’s ties,

Have, for my weakness, oft reprov’d me;

Yet still the simple gift I prize,

For I am sure, the giver lov’d me.” 

Charles smiled, turning to rest his face against Jerome’s neck. “That’s the one.”

“Come on, lover.” Jerome whispered, giving his cheek a quick kiss. “To bed with you?” Charles laughed quietly, nodding as he obliged. The two made their way over to the bed, Jerome pulling Charles down atop him in a comforting embrace. The pillows fluffed up around them, and they seemed to sink into the bed as though it was a cloud. “Are you ready to discuss…?”

“Yes.” His face was smushed against Jerome’s neck, so his words came out a bit muffled. “Please- Please ask questions? I’m not sure I can explain without prompts…”

“Of course.” Jerome’s breathing was a steady rhythm, raising Charles up ever so slightly. “When you say you don’t want to have sex, is that something to do with sexual attraction itself, or a repulsion, or a person?”

Charles swallowed the lump in his throat. “I- I never really… felt interested in that? Repulsed by it, rather than… wanting it, like most men my age would, it’s… as though I just… didn’t. Get interested by it. I felt like I had to, but I…”

“Didn’t feel like you enjoyed it?”

“Right.” He balled his fists against Jerome’s chest, feeling his steady breaths. “And I… am I broken for feeling this way? Or… because I have had sex, with him, does that… what does this  _ mean _ ?”

Jerome frowned, combing a hand through Charles’ hair. “Firstly, you are  _ not _ broken, can we be clear on that?”

“I suppose…”

“Good, that’s one thing checked off.” Jerome pretended to mark something off of a checklist in the air, and Charles snorted out a laugh. “What, you don’t like my superb organizational techniques?”

“I think that you are adorable.” He hummed, burying his face against his neck. “What’s next on the imaginary list?”

“Have you ever heard of asexuality?”

Charles frowned. “I- Only in biological context, I don’t…”

Jerome kissed his hair. “In humans, there is a… spectrum, of sexual and romantic attraction. Imagine it like a cross, on one side is heterosexuality, the other is homosexuality. You know I’d be more towards the middle of that, and I know you’d be towards the homosexual side, right?”

“Right.”

“What about the Y-axis in that? I read about this not long ago, it’s… there are parts of identity that focus on the sexual interest of the person involved, it’s… on the two sides, there’s allosexuality, which focuses on the  _ interest _ in sex, and then there’s asexuality, which is the opposite.”

Charles frowned, and turned over, resting his hand on his chin. “So… you’re saying that I may be on the ‘asexual’ side of this spectrum?”

“It’s a working theory.” Jerome cupped his cheek. “I just thought you might want to think that over, yeah?”

He nodded, shutting his eyes and pressing his face against Jerome’s hand. He was so warm and comforting, so solid and  _ there _ that it made Charles’ heart ache with a fondness he never knew he could have. “Thank you, Jerome.”

He chuckled, and Charles cracked his eyes open again to see those familiar crinkles forming in the corners of his partner’s eyes. “You don’t need to-”

“Let me thank you, you silly man.” Charles whispered, and leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’ll think this over more, I think? I… I know I’m not ready to make any decisions about any of this, or label myself until I think and read more, but… this… is helpful, I think. This is really helpful,  _ you’re  _ so helpful, and… I’m so in love with you.”

Jerome took his face in his hands, cradling him as tenderly as though Charles were made of glass that might shatter should he let go. “I love you too, Charles. You know that. I love you regardless of what you decide, I love you regardless of your fears and insecurities and worries, I love  _ you _ , all of those included. Alright?”

If a man could melt, Charles would be a puddle in that bed--he wrapped his arms around Jerome, pressing as close to him as they both could be. He didn’t open his mouth for a long while, for fear that all that would come out would be relieved sobs, or a whimper, or nothing at all, but by the time he did, the light had dimmed outside, until all that was lighting the bedroom was the fireplace against the wall, the fire crackling and basking the room in a warmth. 

When he spoke again, all that came out was one word--a reply.

“Alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments feed my gremlin brain.
> 
> Also, contact me at @coldairballoons and @locallemony on Tumblr! <3


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